On Melody And Harmony
by D. M. Domini
Summary: Being a young woman in a male-dominated Harper Hall is uncomfortable enough. Add in nine firelizards flying at the drop of a hat, and it's even more interesting for Menolly!
1. Chapter 1

On Melody and Harmony

By D. M. Domini

**Part One - Conquest?**

Menolly stood in the bathing pool and rubbed sweet sand through her hair. Furiously. Then she ducked herself under—capsizing blue Uncle who had been paddling next to her—and furiously washed the sweet sand out, as quickly as possible. Then she washed herself...face, chest, underarms, lower bits, everything. Under two minutes later she was out of the bathing room again, somewhat damp but fresh-smelling, and jogging down the hall, braiding her long wet hair back out of her face as she went.

She was late to Domick's rehearsal, regardless.

The dour Composition Master gave her a look when she entered mid-song, but didn't stop conducting the small orchestra. She waited at the sidelines, getting her fiddle out and avoiding the curious glances of other Harpers, and when the song was halted, she slipped into place between Talmor and an older Harper named Prent.

Domick castigated the group for several things as Menolly softly tuned her instrument. The fiddle wasn't far off, but since the mistake she had made hadn't been one of tempo or fingering but flat out _not being there_ she felt it was just better to keep her eyes on the ground.

Master Domick cleared his throat.

Menolly kept her eyes down and adjusted her bow.

Then Talmor kicked her ankle.

She was possessed by a fierce desire to kick him back, but then realized the older Harper on her other side was looking at her too.

She glanced up. Master Domick clearly focused on her from his stand, dark eyes unfathomable.

"I'm sorry I was late sir," she said, honestly.

"Yes, I can see that by the way you've been staring at the ground like a kicked canine." He regarded her for a long moment more, then sighed gustily. "Menolly."

"Sir?"

He pointed a finger at her chest. "You know the rules. No firelizards."

Menolly realized that somewhere along the way Uncle had hitched a ride and was sleeping down the front of her tunic with only his head and tail peeping out of her neckline.

She turned bright red, for the only way to get the little blue out of her tunic would be to put her hand down her front and haul him out.

"Aww, come on Domick. I say we let her break the rules; I'd like to see Menolly's bosom singing along with your tune!"

Eyebrows hitching up, Domick roared "OUT!" at the speaker—but the thought had already been voiced and even Talmor next to her, who was quite good at not giving in to some of the nonsense that still aired in the Hall, was suppressing a snigger.

Well...she supposed it _was_ funny. Just a little. "Uncle," she murmured, her cheeks on fire.

The blue sleeping down the front of her tunic didn't twitch.

_"Uncle."_ And she tried to give herself a little jolt to wake the blue up without...shoving her hands down her front in a room full of male harpers. Where under the sky was Beauty when she needed her? Beauty would have gotten Uncle moving without _any_ of this!

The castigated Harper who'd yelled out the first suggestion finished putting his instrument away and moved behind her as he obeyed Domick's orders to leave. "Just stick your hands in there and pull him out. Bouncing isn't going to do anything but 'Egg' us on!"

The room burst into laughter. Even Talmor.

"Stanton!" Domick snapped.

"What? She's old enough to hear it, look at her!" and with a wink in her direction, he swung his horn case onto his back and made to leave. Then he hesitated. "There's a little supply closet out here if you need some privacy," he suggested. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Right. She glanced at Master Domick, who gave her a nod, and she rose to her feet.

She was half-afraid that Journeyman Stanton was going to be lingering outside, but to her relief he was vanishing around a corner. Oddly enough, she wasn't really mad at him. He'd only been pointing out the obvious with fantastic comedic timing, which was a very Harpery trait. Had she never let Uncle get down there the first place—or if Master Domick had had the foresight to ignore it or shoo her out without literally pointing at her chest—there would have been no opening for him to take.

But she did feel quite silly. She opened the supply closet outside Domick's rehearsal room, slid the glows slightly open, closed herself in, and extracted Uncle out of her tunic.

Uncle protested, sending feelings of _warm_ and _sleep_ at her, and she actually did regret the cold spot on her chest now, but there was nothing to be done about it, her thicker tunic fabric would hide evidence of being cold, and Uncle knew the rules as well as she. "Go play with Beauty and the others or something," she told him.

The little blue made a whiny sound of protest, and didn't _feel_ like joining the others, those smug brutes...but he vanished, somewhere. Presumably not towards the vicinity of smug bronzes and browns.

Why were they smug? She had no idea.

A minute later, tunic straightened and no longer bulging a bit extra at the chest, Menolly was back in her seat, and people had mostly stopped laughing, and the rehearsal resumed.

Aside from Menolly's lateness, the firelizard shenanigans, and the dismissal of horn-player Stanton, the next two hours went more or less as planned from Menolly's perspective. Although not by Domick's, as he grew more and more sarcastic and irritated as time went on, and by the end it seemed he was actually re-composing the piece on the fly. Which nobody _ever_ liked, because it meant you had the _old_ way you'd been having trouble with in your head, PLUS the new way, and everything tended to get jumbled after Domick started and stopped the orchestra twenty times...

But finally the Master Composer called an end to it, and everyone left—except for Menolly, who Domick had indicated to stay.

Her fiddle packed away, she sat there patiently as Domick stood rustling hides around, bringing order to things he'd messed up during their practice. Finally, over his shoulder, he said, "Menolly...for what it's worth...I apologize on their behalf for being unforgivable oafs. I'll assign Journeyman Stanton in particular some sort of punishment."

She fidgeted with her braid, which was dry on the outside, but a little damp still in the core. "I don't see why you have to apologize, Master Domick. It wasn't that bad. It was kind of funny, actually, and he had a point. He reminded me about the supply closet, too...so I could get rid of Uncle."

Domick turned to look at her. "You're too good-natured for your _own_ good, girl," he said, and sighed. "Don't let them think your good-nature is interest. Unless it _is_, of course." His eyebrow flexed. "Then be specific so the losers know they're losers."

Menolly blinked at him, then felt herself turning red again. She'd never quite, ah, imagined getting _this_ lesson from Master Domick. Of all people. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, slightly dubiously.

"Good. Are you going to be late again tomorrow?"

Menolly's blush continued. "No, sir," she said, hoping he would not pry.

But Domick rarely did, unless his back was up, which it wasn't right now. "Very good. See you at dinner then, Journeywoman."

She nodded and rose.

#

The thought occurred to her, as she made her way back to her quarters: if she'd never imagined getting "that" lesson from Master Domick, did that mean she had expected _someone else_ to teach it to her?

And it wasn't even really that she didn't _know_. Audiva was always chatting about it in round-about ways—the main reason she was at the Hall was to learn things that would make her a more compelling bride. Perhaps if not to a Holder or Fort fosterling, a bride for a nice Harper with a career. Piemur still made _bleh_ faces in regards to "girls" which Menolly found both adorable and extremely immature, for she knew he'd change his tune sooner or later. And she knew he would change his tune because _she_ certainly had in regards to _her_ opposite sex.

In fact, it wasn't so much as _change her tune_ as having had a quartet take up residence in the back of her head randomly switching from a background intimate waltz to the brashest of the bawdy songs that were played at the tailmost end of a Gather.

Sometimes, it was so intense, she felt like there was something wrong with her.

Living in a Crafthall that was predominantly male, there was plenty of sly references to just how difficult it was for a man to keep his desires in check. Like it was a set of internal urges that just _came_ with being a man, entirely normal, with a certain blatant physical symbol of it to boot, and it was sort of a rite of adulthood to learn how to _keep_ them in check.

But nobody had ever mentioned that women felt a similar thing. In fact, Audiva's smiles and comments about men was incredibly polite and tame compared to how Menolly sometimes felt. Was she just that disciplined? Or just not as _interested_ as Menolly sometimes found herself to be?

Menolly had noticed a correlation of some of her urges to her cycles...somewhat. Those urges got stronger at specific times of the month...sometimes along with her temper, or immediately after her temper waned. But at other times something set her off at random, at the wrong time of month, and she couldn't figure out what it _was_. She could be in a room with _nobody else in it_ and suddenly be completely unable to finish transcribing one of her songs because of certain thoughts going through her head, or the way her body was reacting.

It was driving her _mad_.

She knew what the weyrfolk would say. What Mirrim even would say. But the fact remained that Menolly was not in a Weyr, or among people who shared that casual mindset. She was among Harpers. And as the only woman Harper, she had a reputation to maintain.

And she had _friends._ She didn't want...want...this _want_...to ruin one of those friendships. To ruin something because she bet on a mere hope that having a...a..._partner_...would fix things.

What would the Harper say if she involved herself in some...some scandal?

Heavens. What if _Robinton_ had been the one to have "the talk" with her? Did he _consider_ that one of his duties as her Master? The thought broke her out into giggling, and a few Harpers that she passed gave her smiles for her amusement was seemingly infectious. "Sorry!" she called after them.

"Not a crime to laugh!" she was told in return.

If only they knew what thoughts she was laughing at in her head.

Silvina was a practical woman, and had assisted Menolly with other matters before...often, it seemed, before Menolly realized she needed help. Yet she'd never really talked or hinted of talking about _this_. So Menolly wasn't really sure what to do or if there _was_ anything to do she hadn't thought of already...aside from trying to take care of herself when needed, and ignoring herself when she couldn't. And taking baths afterwards.

She just really didn't want to keep being late to Domick's rehearsals because of it.

#

"Does he really think I need an escort, girl?" Lord Groghe said, as Menolly led him through the Harper Hall up to Robinton.

"I doubt it, sir. How is Merga?" The Lord of Fort had a fondness of discussing firelizards with her, but she didn't see his gold on his shoulder today.

He glanced over at her—for Menolly was more or less his height these days. "Out and about, out and about," he said, waving a hand. Then his gaze sharpened, and it seemed like his slightly protuberant blue eyes actually saw _Menolly_ for once, and not "Robinton's Journeywoman" or "Girl-With-Firelizards". "And where are _yours?_" he asked, with that strangely direct gaze.

She blinked at the full regard of the Lord of Fort landing on her, and to her abject horror, felt—

—no she didn't. She absolutely did _not_. "I don't know where they are. It's a beautiful day, so they're probably out flying sir, or sunning themselves." It felt like someone else was wearing her skin—but at least her voice was steady, so whoever this Menolly-of-great-control was, she appreciated it.

"Ha!" Groghe said, startling some apprentices who immediately said polite greetings to him—which he ignored. "They're probably out flying," he said, glancing out a window. Then he turned his gaze back on her, first her face, then down the rest of her and back to her face. And abruptly sobered like a particularly unsettling thought had crossed his mind, and turned away. "Thank you for escorting me up to the Harper, girl. Even though I didn't need it."

"You're welcome, sir," Menolly said.

As soon as she'd let Lord Groghe into Robinton's office she fled, as fast as possible without running. If Lord Groghe or Master Robinton needed assistance, hopefully they'd find someone else.

For she had a creepy feeling that Lord Groghe had perhaps wondered if she was available as a conquest. Was there a way to ask Master Robinton to tell Lord Groghe "no"—without starting an incident?

...better, perhaps, to just stay out of his reach.

#

But it was frustrating to stay out of _everyone's_ reach. She saw the Journeyman Stanton again at dinner, and he winked at her. He was a bit older than Talmor and Sebell, perhaps in his early to mid thirties, with laugh-lines around his hazel eyes. She liked the look of him, and could tell that although (like Piemur) he was something of a trickster, he didn't actually seem to do it out of malice.

Still, she rolled her eyes at his wink and continued eating. Mostly because he was old enough compared to her that she wasn't sure how she'd explain such a liaison to any of her friends.

By the end of the dinner, she'd neatly filed just about every male in the dining room that was her age or older (to a certain semi-flexible cut-off point) into files of "interesting", "unavailable", and "never!".

It didn't help. If anything, it made her a bit grumpy because she just didn't _want_ to approach any of them, even the "interesting" ones _like that_. She felt as if she _did_...

...it would change something of her life in a way that would be difficult to control.

So, still frustrated, she focused on just eating her dinner and putting it out of her mind.

#

This time, the next day, she noticed Uncle crawl down the front of her tunic, while she was braiding her wet hair after another hurried bathing session.

He'd been the only one around when she'd...

...and he'd _hummed_, the little voyeur.

For _that_ alone, and aghast visions of what cacophony might happen..._if_...when her entire faire was around, she quickly evicted him from her tunic. "No."

He evicted _her_ for that. Or as close as he could come, by going _between_ to somewhere else.

"Be that way," she muttered at him. Then ran off to where she had to be, so that she would not be late.

Today she was teaching Holder girls—the ones that paid to be shown how to sing and play and be beautiful. Luckily, Menolly didn't participate in the lessons on "being beautiful", although with the way some of the girls critically looked at her damp braid you'd think that was one of her responsibilities.

Menolly ignored their critical gaze, and went through this afternoon's lesson as she always did—efficiently, fairly, and sternly. She knew several of the girls preferred Journey_men_ to teach them, and sometimes complained behind her back to the Masterharper by way of their brothers and fathers, but she and Master Robinton had found they actually improved musically much more quickly when another woman who A) didn't interest them and B) could see through their tricks was their teacher. Robinton had always regretted that the female students hadn't taken their studies seriously, due to pressures or a lack of a role model, and hoped, eventually, another female Harper could be recruited out of their ranks.

_If_ any of them could be found to have genuine musical talent.

Menolly was still looking. Audiva was, personally, a friend of hers but hadn't really progressed much musically after three turns. And was due to leave this turn anyway to go back home and begin courting potential husbands.

There was a new woman today, however. She was a small, petite woman only as tall as Menolly's collarbone, and skin as dark as a moonless night. She said her name was Mollia—in a warm, somewhat husky alto.

While Menolly wasn't the greatest voice herself, tending towards the folksy and furry, she knew the signs of a potentially good singing voice when she heard it. Setting the other girls into their work, she pulled Mollia into the adjoining room, and began to run through the usual tests they always put new students through.

"Welcome to the Harper Hall, Mollia," Menolly said, closing the door behind them.

"Thank you, Journeywoman. I'm very lucky they let me be here."

"They?"

"My husband's family."

Menolly felt her eyebrows rise for a moment with that information. Usually the female students who came were unmarried. "Your husband wishes you to learn how to play?"

Mollia paused. "My...husband passed last turn. His family decided to send me to the Harper Hall...so that I...have another chance at a family. He only had sisters, you see. And I can't marry them."

It was not unheard of for the family of a man to try to re-marry his widow back into their line, particularly if she was a good fit for the hold they lived in. It was far more unusual for them to take additional measures if that was not possible to find her a new spot in life. Mollia was indeed lucky to be at the Harper Hall. If she wanted to be here.

"And you wanted to come?"

"I've enjoyed singing ever since I was a child."

Menolly gave her a half-smile. "Usually we test instrument skills—if any—first, but if you enjoy singing, is there any songs you'd like to sing for me to demonstrate your current skills?"

There was, and shortly Mollia proved with an old, lovely ballad that Menolly did indeed have an ear for a voice. Oh, Mollia could use training in how to breathe, and Menolly was curious what her upper and lower registers would be like once she had more experience in more formal singing to flesh them out...but the voice was there. It just needed to be tweaked and tuned, like a newfound instrument.

When she was done, Menolly thanked her, asked her to demonstrate any further musical skills, and in the back of her head furiously wondered if there was a way to secretly train Mollia up in voice...and spring her on Master Shonagar or Master Domick like a gift.

Probably not. However, once all the girls were dismissed an hour later, she headed for Master Robinton's quarters with a jaunty step, and a grin she tried to suppress somewhat. She'd schooled her face into something that was _probably_ more regally amused than outright grinning by the time she got there, and quickly rapped on his door twice.

"Come in," the Harper called.

Menolly let herself in.

Robinton wasn't the only one in the room. "We just got a firelizard—_firelizard_, mind you—that you're being mean to your students," Sebell, who was sitting across from Robinton at his desk, called upon seeing her.

Menolly made an exaggerated pout as she entered and closed the door behind her. "The poor dears must be exhausted by learning how to play properly!"

Sebell laughed. "They usually plan to do _anything_ but practice. I'm not sure the practice room in Dunca's cothold is even used."

"There's a practice room in there?" Menolly asked—for she certainly hadn't seen a room being used like that the short time she'd been in there.

"There is indeed," Robinton confirmed. "Although...I haven't looked at it in several decades."

Decades? Menolly and Sebell exchanged a look. It'd probably been converted to something else by now.

"How has your day been, my Journeywoman?" Robinton asked, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on his desk.

"Mine's exceedingly busy, so I need to run," Sebell said, and grabbed some things he and the Master had been looking at off of Robinton's desk, and slid them into a bag at his feet. Then he jumped to his feet and headed for the exit—

—but not without ducking to plant a kiss on top of her head before he left. He smelled like wherhide and ink.

She glanced over at Robinton, but although he had clearly seen it his expression didn't change, and a moment later Sebell was gone.

It was a bit irking, if friends and Harpers were going to take liberties with her, for them to only go so far as kissing her _hair_. She sighed, and answered Robinton's question as to how her day had been. "Well, it's been all and all mostly positive, Master. This morning I got most of my new song done—"

Robinton smiled at that.

"—and this afternoon I met the new student who I think may train up to have a fantastic voice—"

"Mmm?" Robinton said, pleased, and took a drink from his wineglass.

"And then I suppose I was kissed," she said.

"There's no 'suppose' about that," Robinton said. "I saw it with my own eyes." Blue eyes that danced.

"Oh, there's plenty of 'suppose' in that," Menolly countered. "Tell him only lousy kissers kiss someone's hair."

Master Robinton laughed at that, a warm, full sound. "I may want to rephrase that were I you, lest you want to imply he only kisses lousy heads and thereby communicates the disease in that manner," Robinton said.

Menolly tilted her head to the side, making a show of considering it.

"And _I_ am certainly _not_ going to relay that message, if that's the one you choose to give!" And his expression sobered. "However, should you need assistance in relaying a different sort of message concerning lines and boundaries, I'd be happy to help."

As he said that, she thought, irreverently, that he had beautiful eyes. And that his gentle offer of assisting to defend her should she need defending didn't help any of the matters she'd been dealing with internally _at all_. She'd felt very alone and unwanted before she'd come to the Harper Hall. And this was the man who had caused such a phenomenal change in her fate.

But as to his message, she shrugged. She felt no threat from Sebell...only a mingled tension between thoughts of friendship, and "more", and what was safest and best for her to instigate. Then, remembering Lord Groghe, she became thoughtful.

Robinton was no fool, and noticed her thoughtfulness. "Menolly—"

Oh, she _really_ didn't want to start an incident, particularly over something that hadn't happened. "Sir?" she kept it as light and innocent as possible.

The wine glass was set down with a soft clink, and Robinton took his feet off of his desk and rose. A moment later, he'd taken her hands in his. "You _are_ to come to me, if something happens," he said, his tone booking no argument.

"I would," she agreed. "_If _something happened." She gently stressed the word.

He took in the honesty of her statement, and a crease appeared between his brows, for it conflicted with her demeanor just a moment ago. "I heard about Domick's—"

She laughed. "That's fine. It was funny. I just had to tell Uncle it didn't matter how small he was, there were certain places on me _not_ to sleep, since I don't notice if I _am_ or _am not_ covered in firelizards anymore."

A smile ghosted across Robinton's lips, and he looked from side to side, searching for her friends. "And where are they now?"

"Outside. How is Zair?"

He gave her hands a squeeze, then returned to his desk to pick up his wineglass, obviously not going to press her further. He drained it, then filled it again, and started to walk towards his bedchambers. "I think he's finally through that gawky adolescence stage. I find I don't have to oil him nearly as much anymore. Of course," Robinton muttered to himself, "...there are other problems."

Problems? Menolly followed him into his bedchambers in concern.

"I was going in here to get something," Robinton said, and brushed a hand through his silvering hair in thought. "Now what was it?"

"Robinton?"

"Yes Menolly?" He turned to face her.

"What problems?"

A mild surprise crossed his face as he looked at her. Then he turned away and quickly said, "Not problems, really. That was a poor word choice. Excuse me for that. It's not anything to be concerned about."

This time, it was Menolly's turn to prod a little—for it was unusual that something would come up with Zair that hadn't already come up with her faire. "I'm not the end-all for information on firelizards, I just got mine before most other people," she said. "So maybe you know something that I might not know—"

He cut her off and changed the subject. "Lord Groghe told me yesterday that Merga is expecting a clutch soon. Do you think Beauty might have any clutches that we, ah—" and he glanced at her hopefully.

Menolly felt a bit guilty. "I think I felt eggs in her earlier this turn...but I could never get her to tell me where. And then she must have laid them. I'm sorry, sir. I would have told you had I known where they were."

"Don't fret," he said. "As a young mother, perhaps she doesn't quite trust yet to show anyone her clutches, even you."

"Maybe so," she said. "But if I do know where one is, I'll lead you to it."

Robinton gave her a smile. "Do you know how long it takes for them to be laid?"

She shook her head. "I'd have to know when...when she mated, then count off the time as the eggs grow in her...and then vanish from in her when she lays them. I know how long it would take for a dragon—but she's not a dragon, obviously."

Robinton frowned, and paced back out into his office, wineglass still in his hand. In the middle of his office he stopped. "See...now I don't believe that."

"...that she's not a dragon?" Menolly asked, narrowing her eyes.

He chuckled. And turned to look at her. "You've _never_ counted the days between when she mates and the time you can feel eggs in her?

"I don't know when she mates," Menolly said. "So—"

Robinton held up a hand. "Are you embarrassed to tell me, my dear?"

"...about?"

He just watched her.

She shook her head. "Right now I'm confused. What would I be embarrassed about? Everything mates."

He turned away. "But you don't know _when_ she does. Or they do. Curious..."

Should she?

She stared at Robinton's back. _Should_ she?

Suddenly she suspected what Zair's not-a-problem was.

And HER problems. Or, some of them. Perhaps even all the "times" that were oddly out of synch with her cycle.

By the Egg...Robinton _himself_ had admitted...did _he _even feel...

...what if Zair and Beauty...

Actually, Zair probably tried every time Beauty flew..._and_ Aunties One and Two...

..._and_ Merga..."Did Merga fly yesterday?" she asked.

"She did. And Lord Groghe knows where she lays her eggs," Robinton said. "He was wondering if we were getting clutches yet too. You'd think he'd laid Merga's himself, to hear how proud he was of her!"

_And_ Zair would also go after Kimi, once she...

And then Menolly spoke, before all her chains of thoughts had completed. Her tone was practical. "Well...at least the compulsion is resistible. Unlike in the Weyrs, from what I hear."

Robinton choked on his wine. Then started coughing, enough that he had to put the wine down and lean on his desk.

Menolly swiftly came over and pounded him on the back. "Are you all right?"

"At least—" _cough_ "—it's—" _cough cough_ "—resistible? By the Egg woman!" He made a rough sound in his chest to clear it. "That's not the proper way to drink wine at all, I'm afraid."

She pounded him in the back a few more times. "No, it's not. You don't think it's resistible?"

He straightened up to his full height and looked down at her, his face inscrutable.

Menolly broke the gaze first. "It's certainly resistible. I'm not _pregnant_," she murmured at the ground.

Robinton made another sound in his chest to clear it, and coughed lightly. "Go see Oldive for herbs, Menolly. Even if you are able to 'resist' the urges our little friends create in us. You have nine times the firelizard any other person here has. And women die in childbirth. I'd rather see you having children in your own time, should you choose that path, than having them unexpectedly due to Beauty's antics at such a young age."

Menolly began to blush bright red. "I-I don't really intend to...with anyone—"

He caught her chin, brought her face up so he could look at her. "It's easier to have the herbs and not need them, then to need them and not have them. This is a command from your Master, if it needs to be."

"Yes sir."

He let her go. "And after you go to Oldive, go tell Shonagar about this woman you may be teaching."

"I don't know yet if—"

"Even so...stop and see him. He will appreciate it."

"Yes sir."

Robinton put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "And think about telling me that other thing you weren't telling me. But in your own time."

"Oh," she said. "Well, it makes _sense_ now. Lord Groghe looked at me as if I were...more than just your Journeywoman, or the girl he talks about firelizards to. Which...has never happened before. But if Merga flew—"

"I will have a talk with him," Robinton said, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, Master, I wanted to avoid anything that—"

Robinton's expression became sly. "—about firelizards. Surely he can't take offense from a discussion about firelizards, given he came here _expressly_ to talk to me about them just yesterday. I promise not to send _him_ to Master Oldive to ask for herbs." Then Robinton paused. "Actually, given how many children he has, maybe I _should_..."

Menolly giggled.

Robinton quite possibly did too.

They looked at each other.

A second later the two of them were howling.

#

Laughter aside, when Menolly finally scampered from Robinton's office, she went to Master Shonagar first. Shonagar was indeed intrigued, and asked if Menolly could set up a thing where he could hear...without being there. After all, she was a paying student, not someone found by a Harper and he didn't want to get her hopes up. So Menolly promised she'd find a way, and Shonagar promptly fell asleep—or pretended to—and then two hours later Menolly crept over to Master Oldive's office, having gotten her nerve up. It seemed as if...getting something to prevent pregnancy made the thoughts that had been going around her head more _real_, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted that.

But she also didn't want to disobey Robinton. Particularly when it would be a very stupid thing to disobey him about.

Master Oldive was in his office when she went looking for him, going through what looked like were absolutely the most ancient of ancient hides, and rubbing his eyes. "Why, hello there Menolly."

"Good afternoon Master Oldive. Do you have a moment? May I come in?"

"I do, and of course."

So she did, pulling the door shut behind her.

His eyebrows raised.

"It's not important, just private," she clarified, lest he think she was here on Robinton's orders. Well, she _was_...just not in a Harpery way, she supposed, and that's what she was trying to convey to the Masterhealer. "Do you...have something to ward against pregnancy?"

Master Oldive put his hides down on the table. "To ward against—or terminate?" he Masterhealer said neutrally.

"To ward against."

Master Oldive rose and went into the next room for a moment, and came back with a glass bottle. "Did Master Robinton send you to me?" he asked.

Menolly hesitated. Then she said, "Yes."

Oldive nodded. "It's rare a young woman would come directly to a man for such things—even a Healer. Although I'm glad that you trust me—or trust Robinton—enough to have done so. I hate it when someone comes to me to terminate a pregnancy—without having ever first come to me to prevent it. But for the record, Silvina has a store of these for the women under her if you'd rather not ask me going forward, or if you have another women you're advising who does not wish to come to me. But, let me instruct you on how to use these..."

#

"Piemur."

Piemur, as small and scrawny a boy as ever gave her a glance, then looked as if he were about to keep on running by.

"Piemur!"

"Menolly—I'm gonna be in a whole load of trouble if I'm late!" he complained, but trotted over to her.

"I'll excuse you." Most Masters allowed a Journeywoman to.

"From Mooorr-shalll?"

_Most_ Masters. Piemur had a point...yet, she did need his advice. "That's _Master_ Morshal," she chided, and she would deal with him if she had to.

"Aw, Menolly...if anyone should be able to mess his name up it's _you_. He hasn't earned _your _favors."

She gave him a stern look. And tried not to vomit at the idea of her + Morshall + "favors".

He sighed. "What do you want?" he sounded dejected, as if she might ask him to do the impossible.

"Do you know of a room here in the Hall, with good acoustics—"

Piemur gave her a look as if she were _mad_. _Every_ room had good acoustics. It was the Harper Hall!

"—that can be heard in _other_ rooms? Through vents, or—"

His look of skepticism faded. "Why Menolly—what do you think I am? A filthy little eavesdropper?"

"...yes."

He clutched his heart and staggered into the side, braced a small hand against the wall until it gave out with a quiver, and then slid down it until he was laying spread-eagled in the hallway.

"Oh, Piemur. You're more dramatic than the Harper himself!"

However, that seemed precisely what Piemur wanted to hear, for he jumped back up to his feet with a chip-toothed grin. "Do you need a big room? Small room? What does the hearing-spot need to be like?"

Menolly winked, and whispered in his ear, "Big enough to fit Master Shonagar."

"I'm helping _him_? Why didn't you _say_ so?"

#

Late at night—the only time other than mid-day that the bathing rooms would be deserted—Menolly went through her entire faire and washed them and herself, then sat on the edge of the bath, her feet dangling in the water, oiling them. Lazybones sat on her left shoulder, Rocky on her right, and Beauty in her lap, getting oiled first as was her due as queen.

As Menolly was finishing working the oil down Beauty's tail, there was a sound in the next room where you hung up any instruments and packs you had to keep them away from the water. Menolly adjusted herself, pulling Beauty up to cover her modesty somewhat, and continued oiling.

The someone in the other room sneezed, as many did from the steam of the hot water, and it was a loud, uninhibited masculine sound. She watched the doorway out of the corner of her eye.

A moment later, the mystery Harper appeared. It was Talmor, already divested of his clothing. "Good evening Talmor," Menolly said.

He jumped, having not seen her in the dim room, then padded over to open up a few more glows so that it was easier to see. "Menolly—I didn't realize—"

"It's easier to bathe the firelizards when they're not getting into everyone's hair. Literally," she said with a laugh.

"Oh. I suppose so. I guess I thought that you had your own—since I've never seen, until now—"

"I don't rank _that_ much!" Menolly said.

He gave her a sideways glance, and said nothing for a moment. Then he said, "Is it all right if I—"

"Go ahead. They won't bother you; they're too worried about getting their share of the oiling to stray far from me. In case I forget one of them."

"Do you ever?" he asked, then hurriedly slipped waist-deep into the water.

"Nope. But they're silly."

Menolly reached over and gathered up another dollop of oiling cream and applied it to Beauty, and tried not to watch Talmor as he splashed about washing. He was rather thin and lithe, with skin naturally golden, a shade or two lighter than Sebell.

And then Menolly was done with Beauty, and both her bronzes set up a chatter, trying to be _next, next, next_, while Beauty chirped at Lazybones and pushed him off of Menolly's shoulder.

Since Beauty had chased Lazy off her shoulder and not Rocky, she chose Diver to oil next. He crooned happily, and repeatedly rubbed his little head against her arm, stomach, chest—anything that was close, as if he wanted to melt into her. "Oh, I know," she told him and hugged him tightly. Then she took hold of one of his wings and stretched the delicate appendage out, and dribbled a bit of cream onto it and began to gently buff it into his bronze hide.

A moment later, Talmor's splashing began again, which made her realize that it had _stopped_. She glanced over at him but he was busy rubbing sweet sand through his hair, creating a foam and lather. Then he ducked himself under to wash it out.

When he came up, he asked, "Do you need help?"

"They'd be very unhappy with me if let someone else help with this," Menolly said. "Would you like it if you were hoping for a hug from someone...and they had someone _else_ hug you instead?"

He chuckled. "When you put it that way...no. I'd be upset too."

"Exactly. This is really the only time I get to fully pay attention to them. The rest of the day I'm busy with things, and at night I'm asleep which I'm sure is quite boring. And Piemur helps me with feeding them, so I'm already giving that part of their care away."

Talmor made a sound of agreement, and watched her care for Diver. Then he turned back to his own washing again...and it was her turn to covertly watch him.

As she switched to oiling Rocky, and from there to Lazybones—who wasn't quite as lazy when it came to demanding to be oiled—she thought for a while that he didn't quite realize she was washing him. Until she began to realize he'd washed himself fully quite a few times, and perhaps typically he'd be done bathing by now...and she didn't turn her eyes down to her firelizard quickly enough to avoid his curious gaze. "What about the ones that are done?" he asked. "Could I hold one?"

For some reason, she blushed. Then said, "I don't know if Beauty will allow it, but one of my boys might," she said, referring to the two bronzes.

And Talmor waded over to her, the water _just_ high enough to keep his modesty...not that hers had been entirely preserved as she switched firelizards of decreasing size into her lap. A moment later he'd hauled himself up to sit next to her, and had Diver in his lap, making contented sounds as Talmor stroked his eye ridges. Some oil which hadn't fully sunk in yet ended up on his fingers, and he rubbed them together and gave them a delicate sniff. "Is this what the women use?" he asked.

"So Oldive tells me," Menolly said. "To keep their skin supple. It works well enough on firelizards I suppose, so perhaps it does work on them too."

"You don't use it?"

"Do you really think I have _time_ to sit around oiling myself, too?"

He laughed at that. Then he rubbed his oily finger on her shoulder. "Well, then you do what your firelizards do...get someone to do it for you," and his tenor voice sunk down to a murmur as he said that.

She blushed...and had an urge to wiggle around to see if that would stop a sharp _ache_ between her legs.

He leaned over and stuck his finger in the open pot of oil...then _poked_ her in the side, playfully. Which wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting, and she laughed.

"You're ticklish?" he said, smiling.

"Don't you _dare_. I have firelizards, and I may use them."

He grinned. "So more delicate measures should be taken," he mused. Then he wrote a pattern of notes on the outside of her thigh with his oiled finger.

She watched this, fascinated. His head had leaned close to hers, but his eyes were focused downwards, on his handiwork. His face seemed serene, somewhat amused, but looking down further she could see _him_ unmistakably standing at attention.

That must really be unfortunate, she thought, for her own parts in that area were in a similar state...it just didn't _show_ so obviously to anyone who looked. So she took pity on him, and ghosted her face close to his and set a light kiss on his temple.

Goosebumps arose on his bare flesh, and he met her eyes again, brown to sea-blue, then he leaned forward—he didn't have far to go—and kissed her face, just only far enough that it was her cheek and not the corner of her mouth.

Realizing that he was giving her time to respond to the situation—and that she didn't exactly know what she was doing, but wanted it anyhow—Menolly chose to kiss the edge of his mouth. And then his mouth. And then when that mouth opened, slightly, she took enough initiative to gently bite his lower lip. He sucked in a heavy breath, and then kissed her back, slow and exploratory, and his fingers caressed her cheek as lightly as the breezes of air stirred by firelizards when they took off.

She touched him too, his cheek, his nose and face, his hair, which was straight and red-brown and very thick. Then his neck, the bump of his adam's apple, and his chest, as something warm vibrated enthusiastically in her lap.

But then she realized he had...wilted a bit, before her fingers could get anywhere near. And she'd barely been touching him at all...so how could she have hurt him? She paused. "What's wrong?"

"Is that...a sound of approval...or a sound that they're all about to devour me?" he asked.

One by one, her firelizards, who had begun humming more and more urgently, fell silent. She looked at them. They looked back, quite expectantly, as if to say, _Well? Get on with it!_ She scowled at them. Then she glanced at Talmor, who stared back at her. Then she looked at the firelizards, who were still watching her. "They're a group of dirty little voyeurs, and they like to _watch_," she said in exasperation.

"Oh?" Talmor said, cocking his head as he absorbed this. Then his uncertain, somewhat fearful expression faded, and he was decidedly _un-_wilting. "I've never had anyone _watch_ before..."

"I...think that sort of comes with _me_," Menolly said. "I don't think they'd go away if I tried."

"I won't tell anyone," Talmor whispered. Then he leaned forward and kissed her again, and it was warm and sweet and _exactly_ what she'd been wanting for far, far too long.

And a bit later the humming firelizard was out of _her_ lap, and she was in Talmor's, and he was finding inventive ways to use firelizard oil, although given her state none of that was strictly _needed_...

#

In the morning, when she awoke alone in her bed—well, alone with nine firelizards—she mused that the first time that _that_ had happened had been in a bathing room, and that was quite a good thing. Nine firelizards's undivided attention was _loud_, and she knew from experience that the walls between her room and the others up here were not particularly sound-proof. In fact, she often heard the _humming_ of voices quite often. Undoubtedly anyone on the other side of these walls would hear her nine, and her, should she get up to activities that set them abuzz. A conference room that all the Masters used from time to time was on one side of her quarters, and on the other, the Masterharper's office and quarters. Not exactly people she wanted to hear her...and she doubted they wanted to hear _her_.

Maybe she should ask Master Robinton if there was a different room she could move to, although he might look askance at that, since she'd always voiced how pleased she was about the position of her quarters currently.

Well. The conference room wasn't used all that often, and Robinton had made it quite plain he understood about firelizards. So maybe he would just have to live with it.

After all, she'd hate it if she ended up in a _worse_ room than this one.

Maybe she wouldn't ask after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Menolly listened to the Journeying announcements with half an ear—until one particular name caught her ear.

"—and Journeyman Talmor will spread _illumination_ at Glowcave Hold—" Master Robinton said from the head of the dining hall, deftly weaving in a "light" joke into the announcement. "While I expect Journeyman Arton will be very pleased to be assigned to the lovely Sea Hold at Kleff. When you're there, Journeyman Arton, please sample the micro-brews they have and let me know if any are of interest. Nothing can compare to Benden Wine of course, but I hear good things."

There were some chuckles, and Arton enthusiastically agreed he'd sample the brews for the Masterharper.

"Gentlemen! Dragons and their riders are outside; I daresay you shouldn't keep them waiting. Good luck, Harpers."

And there was a general chorus of cheers for the lot of Journeymen newly appointed to their posts as they did as the Harper bade.

Menolly wasn't sure if she was amused or peeved she'd be left now without a willing friend to get the...firelizard jitters...out of her. But she cheered for Talmor as heartily as she cheered for everyone else, and wished him and the rest well, and wondered if Robinton would ever assign her anywhere, or at least, like Sebell, start sending her out on shorter assignments. She didn't quite have Sebell's talent of mimicry...and she certainly had a higher profile, as being _the_ female Harper with nine firelizards made her easily recognized...but surely she'd be able to do _something_.

Then a moment later, the Harper dismissed the Masters and Journeymen from the meal, and Menolly dawdled a bit then met up with Piemur as the Apprentices were dismissed as well, so he could help her feed her faire.

As they walked to the kitchens to pick up Camo and the meat, Piemur chattered to her about his day and any bits of gossip he thought she would be interested in , but Menolly tuned it out, thinking more on ways to broach the subject of Journeying somewhere to Robinton. Eventually, Piemur realized his only audience was Camo and the greedy firelizards, who didn't understand or care about a fifth of what he said, and with a sniff he fell silent, concentrating on stuffing Brownie and Mimic's hungry little mouths with the meat Camo had chopped for them.

Then, he said, "Bet you'll be missing Talmor—"

"Shut up Piemur," Menolly said bluntly.

The apprentice opened his mouth again to protest.

"Piemur loud," Camo seemed to agree.

Piemur gave them a wounded look, that was ninety percent playacting, and ten percent actual feeling, but continued feeding the firelizards, not about to let a little thing such as wounded feelings get in his way.

Soon all of Menolly's fair were practically gravid with dinner, and as way of apology Menolly gave Piemur a brief hug with her usual thanks.

He squirmed and shoved her away with the casual disgust of a pre-teen boy, then said, "Where did Beauty's eggs go?"

"Haven't found them yet," Menolly said. Beauty had kept her secrets...cryptic. One image of beach was much the same as any other, and unlike Beauty, Menolly couldn't just go _between_ to it as easily as breathing. Nor could a dragonrider; the image was far too close to the ground.

"Oh. Well, I expect when you do, the Harper will have all sorts of places for them..." and Piemur went on to give her his detailed opinion on who exactly in the Harper Hall would be a good recipient for one.

The fact that he _didn't_ mention himself stood out starkly, and Menolly laughed and gave him a shove back towards the Hall. "Yes, and once I start finding her eggs, and the Masterharper gets tired of giving them away, I'll make sure your name gets put into the draw!"

"I didn't even mention myself!" Piemur said, affronted.

She messed up his hair and gave him another shove. "No you didn't. Off you go. Camo?"

"Camo feed pretties," the drudge said proudly, smiling down to a practically unconscious Auntie One resting in the now-empty food bowl.

"Yes you do, and you're good at it as always. Go back to Silvina now. Camo? Go back to Silvina. One, wake up, silly girl!" and she knocked on the metal side of the bowl with a knuckle to arouse the green, who jumped out at the clanging, climbed to the rim, and leapt off into the dusk.

With that, their usual routine was over for another day.

And, Piemur _had_ been right. She was already missing Talmor. Or rather, somewhat vaguely annoyed her late-night bath tonight would once again be just her and the firelizards.

What an bother.

#

"I don't know about this, Harper," Lord Groghe said the next day, shaking his head and stroking Merga idly. "I don't know about this at all."

Master Robinton walked next to Lord Groghe, a gaunt contrast to the heavier lord, and behind them came Menolly, with a satchel of maps and writing instruments that Robinton had asked her to carry. From time to time, Zair looked back at Beauty and made what seemed to be small-talk. However, Beauty was somewhat subdued, and leapt off of Menolly's shoulder to go elsewhere as they entered Fort Hold. Rocky and Diver, seeing the opening, dropped down from somewhere above to take her place, one on each shoulder, twin bronze tails winding around her neck.

Menolly listened with half an ear as the two men continued to converse, and when they were deep within Fort Hold and hold up in Lord Groghe's study, she pulled out the maps Robinton had wanted her to bring and set them on Groghe's desk, between the two men. Then she added some fresh hides to write on, and a pen and ink, and started to leave.

"Menolly," Robinton said, accepting a glass of wine from Lord Groghe. It was not Benden wine, but the two had agreed that sometimes sacrifices had to be made. "Why don't you stay here and work on that new song of yours? I might have need of you and I'd rather not have you running back and forth at a firelizard's summons. Lord Groghe, do you mind if my Journeywoman uses that desk over there?" and Robinton gestured at a much plainer desk in the corner.

"No, no," Lord Groghe said. "Not at all. Mmm," he said, apparently pleased with the wine even if it wasn't Benden. Then he glanced at Menolly. "A new song, eh?"

"Of course," Robinton said, with a proud smile at her.

Menolly smiled back—and tried not to overly show her excitement. She'd been listening in to conversations between Master Robinton and Sebell since before she walked the tables, and occasionally overheard things when people came to the Harper Hall to speak to Robinton in his office, but _this_...staying in the room as Robinton spoke with Lord Groghe...was quite new, and she was proud Master Robinton and Lord Groghe both trusted her to be present.

Also...she _was_ very glad she wouldn't be running back and forth between Hall and Hold. As Robinton said, she had a song to write, and it was practically sprouting out of her ears like a weed as it was.

So Menolly took her things and settled into the little plain desk. Diver took up residence on the back of her chair, while Rocky curled up under the table by her feet. And she spread out hides and slates and got to work.

"Menolly?" the Masterharper said sometime later.

She blinked up. "Yes?"

He held out a few maps they'd been looking at. So Menolly rose and retrieved them and put them away in their cases, and returned to her song, humming softly to herself.

"Girl," Lord Groghe said some time after _that_, and she retrieved their empty wineskin and glasses, and quickly removed them from the room to a cart outside that existed for such things. On the cart was also a pitcher of water, frosty-cold with chunks of ice floating in it, and some glasses, which she brought in.

And she returned to her song. For a while. Partway through it, when she shifted to a certain key, she thought of Talmor again. Was he enjoying Glowcave Hold? Should she send him a letter via firelizard?

She didn't really want to...their relationship hadn't been one of that sort and she didn't want to mistakenly signal to him otherwise. And a note wouldn't really do anything to ease the restless warmth that shuffled around in her, like a persnickety feline that refused to sit still.

It was irritating. She frowned and tried to return to her song. The harmony she'd just written in wasn't right. But she couldn't quite figure out if it was _wrong_.

Would it be all right if she took her gitar out and played? She glanced over at the two men. They were deep in discussion still. She probably shouldn't.

The harmony wasn't _right_, however.

And she also wanted Talmor. Or to slip into her own quarters for twenty minutes or so.

Why hadn't anyone ever _told_ her being adult was this frustrating? This requiring of discipline? She glanced sideways at the two men again. She found it hard to believe that either of them had the same amount of brainpower being devoted to this subject as she was uncontrollably devoting. Was there a secret to stopping it?

Her eyes landed on Lord Groghe again. He wasn't a handsome man. Nor disgustingly ugly, either. What drew his many mistresses to him? His rank alone? _She_ found his rank intimidating more than anything. And surely he didn't give gifts and favor to _all_ of them. And why did he wander so, from woman to woman?

Maybe she was incorrect; maybe half _his_ brainpower too was dedicated to such thoughts.

And then there was Master Robinton. Vaguely connected to Silvina, she knew, but while there was fondness there, and Silvina more or less _acted_ like Robinton's wife, bringing his meals up to him and such, the same could be said for Menolly too...and Sebell...and their relationships obviously were not so. Unlike Groghe, her Master didn't have progeny everywhere. And in the few turns she'd known him, she'd never seen him with a lover. He flirted aplenty, particularly when it would get him into someone's good graces, but it was never serious.

Perhaps people were just wired differently. Perhaps she, Menolly...was wired more like Lord Groghe in this manner than Masterharper Robinton.

She almost burst into laughter at that. What a thought! Thinning her mouth in an effort to not break the relative silence of the room with her mad cackling, she tried to refocus on her song again.

It didn't work; instead, a different tune attempting to explain the realities of sex tried to emerge.

..._had_ there ever been such a thing? The Harper Hall tried to educate on all sorts of things through song. And, sure, there were plenty of bawdy songs...but had any of them ever, say, incorporated something Master Oldive might have said? Something other than winks and nudges and secret smiles?

...it might actually ease some of the burden on the Healers. If the Harper Hall had an educational song on this matter.

Although, it would be a hard sell to have it played at Holds.

Menolly wondered if someone like Lord Groghe might even take insult at it, thinking it was aimed at him? She glanced over at him again—

—only to find him watching her, over Robinton's shoulder.

"Sir?" she asked, schooling her internal merriment away from her face.

Lord Groghe said to Robinton, "What is your Harper girl smiling at?"

Robinton's back had been to her, so he twisted around. "Is my hair sticking up?" he asked, running a hand through it.

"No, Master." Although it did _now _he'd fussed with it, but she didn't say that.

"That's a relief. Lord Groghe, do you mind if I open the vent? It's becoming a bit stuffy—"

"Was about to do that myself," the Lord of Fort said.

"Ah, well, I'll save you the bother," and Robinton got to his feet and crossed the room to fiddle with a lever set into the wall. A moment later he had it flipped, and a soft _woosh_ and a breeze of cooler air began to run through the room. Then he divested himself of his tunic and flopped it over the back of his chair. "There we go. Why _are_ you smiling, Menolly?"

Menolly immediately stopped smiling, because she hadn't meant to again, and certainly hadn't meant to get caught. "Just my thoughts," she said.

"Any you care to share?"

"No sir."

"Ask her to share them anyway," Lord Groghe said, a half-smile curling the side of his mouth. Merga stirred on the tabletop by his elbow as he said this.

"How inventive do you want my lies to be?" Menolly said before she could stop her mouth.

Robinton shot Lord Groghe a repressive look. "I don't believe anyone has to divulge the contents—"

Groghe barked a laugh. "If they're anything like the tales I hear from your Master here—" he said to Menolly...but before he could continue the thought Merga awoke fully and sat up, stretching her wings wide, first one, then the other. Then she creeled at Groghe, and bent her muzzle down to clean her flank...and as she did so, her eyes shaded from the blue-green contentment towards orange and red.

Behind Menolly on the back of her seat Diver stirred, and a humming, felt more than heard, vibrated through her shoulder blades. At her feet, Rocky started a familiar thrumming.

Zair joined in as well.

Robinton's gaze jerked to Zair, then he took in Merga, Rocky, and Diver, and abruptly he grabbed up his tunic again. "Lord Groghe—we've been at this all morning. I say we take a break, and—"

Groghe tilted his head to the side, obviously well aware of what was occurring. "You don't think so well of me, do you Harper?" he asked.

Robinton immediately said, "I think the same of you that I ever have—"

"Liar. But at least _Menolly_ here admits she's lying," Lord Groghe said. "Out! Both of you. And may the Egg bring a bronze belonging to some beautiful _woman_ to my little Merga here—"

"Come," Robinton said to Menolly, and took up some of the hides and maps, although some he left on the table for them to return to.

Feeling a blush begin to spread across her face, partly due to the Lord's frankness, and partly out of a bit of ire at his stress on the word _woman_...although he could easily have been highlighting Robinton's sex and not Menolly's relative youth...Menolly grabbed up her things, crammed them into her bag, and quickly trotted after Robinton as he left.

Her bronzes, intent on Merga and her preening, stayed behind, as did Zair.

Robinton set a brisk pace, his shoulders tight and his head tilted slightly down as if were bracing himself to bull through a crowd. Menolly trotted behind, for all the world feeling as if she'd done something very wrong and Robinton was upset with her for it, although none of that had obviously happened.

Then Robinton stopped.

Menolly managed not to run into him, but it was a close thing.

Robinton rolled his shoulders, relaxing the angry line of them, and opened his fists so he could smooth out the wrinkles he'd been mangling into the cloth of his tunic. Then he purposely sighed, wiggled his shoulders a bit more, and turned slightly to Menolly. "Imagine what rumors would abound if I was seen storming out of Lord Groghe's office, just before he found a woman to comfort him?"

She stared at him. And then she burst into laughter, unbridled and wild.

"It would give people nightmares!"

Of course, that was all predicated on the assumption that nobody would believe the truth. It wasn't as if many people had firelizards in their lives. "This seems like the ideal subject to write a song about, and yet—"

Robinton made a strange huffing sound. "Do you know how many complaints I'd get for a song like that? From _inside_ the Hall, from _outside_ the Hall—"

"...were you planning on singing it _yourself_ at a Gather?" Menolly asked. She'd rather thought they'd have some Journeyman sneak it out, underground, like most licentious songs went.

He gave her a mock-severe look, and waggled a finger at her. "Does the apprentice teach the master his craft?" Then he relented. "But in all seriousness, Menolly...all of the Harpers would know it's _your_ tune, your melodies are distinctive, and you may not, this time, want that sort of notoriety—"

"Even if it were written by another, everyone will know I have nine of them," she pointed out. "Someone will eventually ask me what _does_ happen when firelizards fly..."

He blinked. "That's not untrue," he said, reluctantly. "Yet I'm still concerned about your reputation—"

She shrugged. "Does anyone think less of a queen rider?"

He was silent. Then he began walking again, tossing his tunic over one shoulder. She followed.

Shortly they were in the public sections of Fort Hold, and Menolly held her tongue on any further questions. Being known for writing such a song was one thing. Talking about this openly in public with her Master quite another.

And yet, she wished she _could_, for analyzing these urges in a colder way had in a way kept some of the _feelings_ at bay. Somewhere outside, far above, Merga was leading both bronzes and all three of her browns on a heated chase.

And she still didn't have any Talmor to help her with it. All she had was bothersome thoughts about Groghe's reaction to things, and her own, and Robinton's seeming non-reactions, unless you counted the tunic hanging over his shoulder.

She supposed it _did_ reveal the backside of his trousers, but the appeal of Robinton had never been in his skinny and gaunt frame. It'd always been his kindness, and his eyes, and his smooth, meticulously controlled baritone. It was _he_ that sparked fires in people, not the vessel that contained his personality.

Which made her wonder again what Lord Groghe's appeal was, for he wasn't a particularly eye-pleasing sight, nor did he have Robinton's particular assets of character.

It must be the deluded notion that dallying with a Lord would confer some of his status, she finally decided, as they exited Fort Hold. A feeling of importance.

Although, hadn't she herself felt more important today, being allowed in the room as they discussed matters of Hall and Hold and Pern? Perhaps she should stop sizing up stones to throw. There were better things to muse on, after all.

Such as which Harper, if any, would be _interesting_.

What a _bother_ Talmor wasn't around now! She eyed Robinton and wondered if it was purposeful. And yet, although he did speak on the subject, his manner had never changed from that of a mentor worried about her.

Actually, she would probably be a little terrified his manner _had_ changed. Terrified...and a bit thrilled. Well, probably more than "a bit" with firelizards egging her on.

Weren't they _done_ yet?

No, she felt, in the back of her mind. She glanced up at the sky and scowled.

If not Talmor, who? Actually, it seemed as if all of her "favorite" young Harpers were not at the Hall now, and those that were left were too young, or much older than her. In fact, hadn't even Brudegan and Tagetarl gone out with Talmor? And Sebell was already out, as he usually was...not that she'd consider him. He was almost as terrifying as the Harper when looked at in that light.

What about Fort Hold? She'd seen a few young men around, but...somehow she'd always sort of never considered people outside of the Harper Hall. Would they _get_ her? Her home Hold hadn't.

When they got to the Harper Hall again, Robinton dismissed her with a vague comment about discussion later. Menolly felt mingled annoyance and relief. Annoyance, for even if she did find someone, she'd have to _explain_ at some point what was going on, without the benefit of a song having gone around before. At least she didn't have to explain this to _him_. And she felt relief, for it was unnerving how her thoughts were steadfastly returning to two men she had no business in thinking that way about.

She retreated to her quarters.

And, somewhat peevishly, wrapped herself up in her furs and _didn't_ seek relief, because she was in control of herself, firelizards or no! Instead she set about to creating that song that Master Robinton was a bit worried she'd get a reputation for in her head.

There never came a peak of excitement she'd learned to expect from Beauty's flights, or when her boys perused the Aunties or some other firelizard, so eventually as she found her thoughts wandering to more mundane topics, she realized some other firelizard must have caught Merga. Perhaps Zair, perhaps a wild firelizard, or some firelizard from Fort Weyr. And soon enough, her flight of lizards returned, the males curling up and dropping right into sleep and the three females softly gossiping with one another.

#

There seemed to be _nobody_ left in the Hall that seemed a suitable Talmor replacement.

Domick? Dark hair, dark eyes, golden skin, compact frame. And a steadfast practicality that would ensure she received a lecture from him that would blister her ears _and_ the Harper would know of it if she indicated even the _slightest_ of curiosity. So, no.

Carl? Blond-haired, steady and studious, good at blending into the background, used often enough as a set of Robinton's eyes and ears for just these traits (well, except the blondness). And yet, Menolly had always perceived him as a bit bland, and he'd never indicated any interest or disinterest towards her firelizards, which, for better or worse, were a part of the deal with her. As that was thereby an unknown, she wasn't sure she wanted to tempt his disgust with their hums of approval.

What about the Holder boys? The only one Menolly liked had been Audiva's companion, and even if Menolly had been catty enough to do such a thing, she wasn't sure she really wanted someone from a seahold.

Menolly sat in one of the shared quiet rooms, staring out the window, poking herself in the chin absently with her stylus. There were a few Harpers with her, but two were married, and one far, far too old, three more too young, barely older than Piemur, and the last had always seemed intimidated by her, as odd a notion as that was.

So she sighed, and pressed in another bar of placeholder melody that wasn't quite right, but would do until she figured out what she wanted to put there.

And then, dragonriders arrived. Through the window into the courtyard she saw them, two greenriders and one brown. They settled down, and then accepted packages and people that would be conveyed to Kerron for an event there. Shortly after, the dragons arose again, and were gone.

Perhaps she should befriend a dragonrider. Surely they would understand something of firelizards and her reluctance for an emotional relationship. She had a Craft, she didn't have _time_ to moon about. They would get that. Plus, if they gossiped, they'd gossip with their dragons and not with Harpers.

And, although she hated to agree with the Holder girls on such things, the rigors of throwing firestone sacks around meant they were often rather attractive.

But how to find one?

She wrinkled her nose. She knew the pains the Holder girls took to be alluring to young dragonriders. So much time spent on their hair, on choosing a dress. Harpers at least knew _her_ for her music. But would a dragonrider appreciate such a talent? Would she have to primp and preen to catch someone's eye?

She thought of Mirrim, who was a weyrbrat, and certainly didn't preen.

Actually...why _hadn't_ she thought to ask Mirrim before? Mirrim _was_ weyrbred, _and_ had a firelizard. Menolly felt like smacking herself in the head. And she hadn't seen Mirrim in forever.

Perhaps...Master Robinton would let her go visit? She didn't ask for favors often...

So Menolly jumped up, drawing a few eyes at her sudden movement, pushed her things into her bag, and went in search of her Master.

It took a while to find him; he wasn't in any of his usual haunts. Finally, she resorted to asking Beauty, who flashed an image of white-haired Master Jerint at her. She'd looked for him already, but Beauty's image made her turn around and poke her head into the L-shaped workshop once again.

"MASTER JERINT?" she yelled above the sawing and hammering and loud noises at the closest Journeyman.

"STORAGE!" a brawny—but alas married—Harper bellowed back.

She gave him a nod, and set off for the underground storage areas.

And sure enough, that's where she found Master Jerint—and the one she'd actually been looking for, Master Robinton. The two of them were deep inside one of the rooms where they stored wood and ingots suitable for making instruments with, only the greenish illumination seeping out the door betraying they were there.

"I just don't know about this _wood_ we got from Nerat," Master Jerint said to Master Robinton, shaking his head. "It's just too _hard_. And not of the typical species; it's exotic. I would have preferred skybroom."

"Last skybroom that was felled caused the Weyr tasked with protecting it to object."

Master Jerint's bushy eyebrows flexed upwards, arching like fuzzy wings. "Object? Why wouldn't they be happy they didn't have to _protect_ it?"

"Well, that was the stance of the wingleaders. But it turns out, to protect a skybroom properly, you need greenriders and blueriders. Browns and bronzes and golds are just too big, and can't maneuver close enough to protect it without also setting it on fire. There's something of a competition going on, over which Weyr can keep the most skybrooms intact in their territory." Robinton chuckled at this. And then he noticed Menolly, peeking in at them. "Why hello there. Jerint, let me see what I can do about the wood. It's not going to affect us for a season or two—why don't you experiment with a little of what we received—"

The other Master sighed. "Yes, yes, of course..." he sounded somewhat dejected.

Robinton squeezed his shoulder, then began weaving himself around piled blocks of wood, and stacked ingots. Jerint fingered the exotic timber they'd been hovering over, then started to pile things onto a trolley as Robinton left him behind.

"What brings you into the bowels of the Hall?" Robinton asked Menolly, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a quick hug of greeting.

She leaned into the embrace no longer than she thought she could get away with, then said, "Master—would you allow me a bit of time off next time a dragon destined for Benden Weyr comes about?"

Robinton gasped, and put a hand over his heart. "You want to leave my side?! What have I done? Is it overwork?" he looked her over, and she sensed that it was both in play and in actuality, to see if she'd been overworked. "You have been more sober of late..."

"I haven't seen Mirrim for a while," Menolly said. "I'd like to visit with her. We write notes—her greens are practically Auntie Three and Four some days—but it's not the same."

"Consider it done," he said. "I'll see what I can do about getting a Benden dragon over here for you."

"No, I mean, if someone's going that way..."

He smiled at her protest. "Very well. _I_ will send you that way...how do you feel about speaking to F'nor on Harper business?"

She blinked. "F'nor?" She knew who he was, of course. He was the Weyrleader's half-sibling and right hand. And sometimes Mirrim mentioned him in passing, as he was Brekke's weyrmate and sometimes, to Mirrim's ire, acted the foster-father. She had never had occasion to speak to him directly though, the short time she'd been in Benden Weyr, and certainly never as the sole representative of the Harper Hall. "What would you have me speak to him about?" she asked.

"Let us go upstairs and discuss that," Master Robinton said.

#

Four hours later, T'gellan and bronze Monarth arrived to take her to Benden Weyr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Menolly!" T'gellan greeted her with a wave, and slid down his bronze's shoulder. A moment later, she was engulfed by a quick embrace, smelling of firestone and dragon and oil.

A not-surprising thought told her that _yes_, maybe she _did_ want to find a dragonrider. Just not this one. If she'd let Audiva's seaholder alone because she hadn't wanted to hurt her friend, she'd leave T'gellan alone so that Mirrim wouldn't hurt _her_. Even if he wouldn't even realize she was leaving him alone, for all that he paid attention to Mirrim.

"And where's Sebell?" T'gellan asked, letting her go and looking around. "I was told to bring a Harper to Benden Weyr—"

She felt irritated at that. "Am I not a Harper?" she asked.

His eyes widened when he realized what he'd implied, and he started to apologize, so genuinely stricken by his unthinking lapse that she quickly reassured him that she knew he hadn't meant it.

"Just don't do it again!" she warned with mock sternness.

"Never!" he said. And then, as there were no other Harpers they were waiting for, gave her a boost up Monarth's shoulder.

Shortly, they were up in the air, the Hall and Fort Hold nothing but dwindling shapes carved into the side of the mountain range. "So, you're the Harper's representative now?" he shouted at her over his shoulder above the wind.

"Yeah," she shouted back.

"Good for you! We, Monarth and I, knew you were meant to be a Harper the moment we set you down!"

"That's more than_ I_ knew," Menolly said in his ear.

His shoulders jumped as he laughed. "Who are we to bring you to once we land?"

"I'm to talk to F'nor for the Harper, but I'd also like to talk to Mirrim, because she's my friend. May I stay the night at the Weyr?"

"Of course!" he said. "F'nor, huh? We can do that. And it'll be easy for me to find Mirrim for you. I seem to come across her all the time."

Menolly _didn't_ hit him for his cluelessness. For one, Monarth might dump her off his bronze back if she did. But oh, did she _want_ to!

And then they went _between_.

#

Although T'gellan technically was of superior rank to F'nor by Weyr standards, being a wingleader in his own right when F'nor was second in F'lar's wing, Menolly felt incredibly nervous to be talking to F'nor on Harper business by herself. She knew that Sebell spoke with him a lot when Sebell was out east; in fact, during some months, the Harper Hall's primary route of communication with Benden Weyr _wasn't_ directly through the Masterharper and the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, but through Sebell and F'nor.

T'gellan picked up some of her nervousness, and she could see a slight befuddlement in the momentary crease between his brows. He assured her F'nor was just about the _last_ person who would bite her, even-tempered as he was, and offered to walk with her.

She declined with a smile to better hide her nervousness, and set her own feet to the path to the quarters the man shared with Brekke. Silently, she directed Beauty to make sure absolutely _none_ of her fair misbehaved while she was here, and the queen, obedient to her desire, spread her wings and went _between_ to enforce Menolly's will on the sometimes unruly lot.

Menolly half expected to meet someone she knew on the way up, although the fact that she didn't shouldn't have been surprising. She'd only been in the weyr a few sevendays, and as a worker under Manora. She'd hardly seen even a fraction of the people who had lived there then, much less several turns later.

And then she was at F'nor's weyr. She raised her hand to knock—and then stopped herself from rapping as hard and authoritatively as she'd been thinking to. What she carried wasn't unimportant, but it _was_ rather routine. No reason to sound frantic or frightened.

So she knocked more lightly...just not so lightly that it wouldn't be heard.

And she tried not to smirk at how seriously she was taking all of this. All this thinking about knocking!

F'nor opened up the door not very long later, and they stood staring at one another.

Menolly smiled at him, undiplomatic smirk averted, and best she could, played what she _wanted_ to be, instead of what she felt like...she _wanted _to be an unafraid but not overbearing official Harper Journeywoman, sent on a routine duty. "Good afternoon, Wingsecond. I'm actually here to see Mirrim, but while I was here, Master Robinton asked if I could bring you this parcel," and she touched the bag slung over one shoulder.

His eyes landed on it, and comprehension dawned. "Menolly," he said. "Journeywoman. Yes, come in. Where's Journeyman Sebell?"

F'nor wasn't someone she could ask an arch question of like she could T'gellan—T'gellan was friend enough to her that she felt comfortable he wouldn't take an occasional sharp word the wrong way—so she merely said, "Master Robinton has him on another assignment."

And a moment later she was inside his quarters.

Menolly realized as he shut the door behind her that she'd never been in _any_ dragonrider's quarters before, and had the urge to look around intently. Instead, she only allowed herself brief glances around from under her eyelashes—at the large bed pressed up against one wall, a curtain that would have hidden it secured to one side by a ribbon, at the giant stone bed where Canth would rest—and let him lead her to a couch, and she removed the bag she held and began to remove slates and hides from it.

For a few seconds, as F'nor picked one of them up to read, it was clear that he didn't expect her to have much to say, but she gently took that one from him and gave him a hide that was better suited to go first...and she started to explain to him the sources of all the things she had, and how Master Robinton believed they all worked together, and what it could mean.

Without a word, he changed tactics from reading what she brought without involving her, to asking her questions.

And, strangely enough, she found she could answer all of them. _And_ she knew what things she shouldn't yet mention, and which she could. _And_ she didn't broadcast the fact that she wasn't telling all when she avoided a subject, like Sebell had often teased her of doing.

It seemed as if a few turns of exposure to Master Robinton's affairs, not to mention Sebell's acting tricks and tips, had better prepared her for these things than she'd thought.

Of course...this _was_ Benden Weyr. And F'nor a rational and even-tempered man by any measure. He wasn't his broody half-brother, or the temperamental Weyrwoman. So it wasn't like some of the work that Sebell did, dancing along a thin, thin line between truth and lies with people not particularly fond of the Harper Hall. But even so—she'd always stuck to nothing more than her tunes, and her musical performances before.

So she allowed herself this _one_ pat on the back. Just for proving Robinton's trust in her hadn't been misplaced.

And then, when they were done, F'nor thanked her, and belatedly offered refreshments.

"I'm going to go see Mirrim, so thank you but no."

And a moment later, the hides that would stay with F'nor removed and everything else packed away, off she went to find her friend.

#

She found Mirrim grabbing a bite to eat. The evening dinner had largely ended, aside from the ever-present pots of stew and gruel boiling over the hearth, which meant the kitchen workers finally got theirs.

Mirrim jumped up and gave Menolly a hug that was fit to crack her ribs. "Where have you been? T'gellan said you were here! Have you eaten? How are your feet?"

The last was something of an old joke, for Mirrim had been the one to change Menolly's dressings much of the time after Menolly had run the skin right off of them.

"Aching. Will you massage them?"

Mirrim wrinkled her nose, taking it for the joke it was...before she wondered if it _wasn't_...

"—would you really think _I'd_ ask someone to massage my feet even if they _were_ hurting?" Menolly asked, poking her friend in the ribs. "Me?"

"Everyone else seems to assume I would. Mirrim do this. Mirrim do that. There's _always_ something to do! And nobody ever seems to want to do it, or the ones already doing too much try to do more, so it's left for _me_..." Yet, even as she said this, she got up and found a bowl for Menolly, and served her something to eat, and handed it to her.

Menolly held the bowl she was given, and cocked her head to the side, and gave the bowl and then Mirrim a _look_.

"Well at least _you_ deserve it!" Mirrim defended her actions.

"What," Menolly said with a laugh. "To eat?"

"_Some_ certainly aren't worth the food that goes into their gullets."

"Maybe we shouldn't sit _here_ and eat then," Menolly said. "If you're being overworked. They probably just see you near the kitchen and assume—"

Mirrim's eyes lit up, and with a quick nod she grabbed her own bowl of food, and a pot of klah.

And then the two of them were out of there, making for Mirrim's quarters.

"Rough day?" Menolly said, as Mirrim let them in a few minutes of walking.

Mirrim rolled her eyes. "Like you wouldn't believe! Ugh." Then she said, "Why are you here?"

"To see you."

"No, really, T'gellan said official business—"

"Oh, the Harper just made something up when I said I wanted to come visit," Menolly said, blushing a bit, both because he would _do_ that, and because of what she wanted to ask Mirrim. "Gave me something to do. I actually...well, let's eat first."

Mirrim gave her a curious look. "Are you in trouble?"

"...how would I get in trouble?" Menolly asked.

"I don't know...punching out more of Lord Groghe's spawn?"

"I only did that _once_..."

Mirrim laughed. "And oh, do I wish I had been there to see it! You have to do it again. We don't get many Lord Holder's brats here, but there's some bronzerider spawn that'll do...here, hold this," and Mirrim handed the pot of klah to Menolly as she opened the door to her quarters."

"I'm not going to go around wrestling everyone you have a gripe with!" Menolly said, following her in, and setting the pot on a dresser. She shut the door behind her with her boot.

"Thanks, I can't see now," Mirrim said into the darkness. "Thank the shell I know where the glows are—" and a moment later she had all four glowpots open. "Why can't you go wrestling everyone I have a gripe with?"

"I'd be in physical conflict with the entire Weyr!"

"That's not fair," Mirrim protested. "I get along with _some_ people...stop giving me that _look_, I get along with _you!_"

Menolly set the rest of her food down on a small table, and pulled out the chair. "I would have to train with a sword from dusk to dawn. They'd stop letting female apprentices into the Hall because even _more_ people would see my muscular arms and mistake me for a lad—"

"—you look _nothing_ like a lad, Menolly, I don't know why those idiots say such things—"

"—and take women Harpers as mere rumor, and—"

"You know, I didn't say anything about a sword. I said _wrestling_. Where'd you come up with swords?"

Menolly paused. "Wrestling. Swords. Same thing."

Mirrim laughed. "No, they're not!" She pulled out the other chair, and sat. And then frowned. "You have muscular arms?"

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. You said _even more_ people would see your muscular arms, implying that you have them _already_ and that some people have _seen_ them—"

"—that's not what I meant—"

"A _Harper_ being imprecise with words?"

"Mirrim! No. I'm just...I don't have muscles but I have a laddish build. Look at my shoulders. You could hang your wash on them. People say Master Robinton, Sebell, and I all have the same build, like three eggs from a clutch."

Mirrim sniffed. "You could knock Master Robinton over with a feather. He's hardly muscular. I don't know what you have for a Headwoman over there, but she clearly doesn't feed—" Mirrim stopped talking when she saw Menolly's face.

Menolly was glaring. "_Headwoman Silvina_, myself, AND Sebell all chase him all over the bloody Hall with food. If he's skinny, it's only because we haven't yet resorted to holding him down and stuffing food down his throat like you would a peaked fowl! Besides, even if he _is_ slender—"

Mirrim guffawed at the word choice.

"—I mean _thin_...even if he's _thin_, he carried me across this weyr bowl all by himself, and I was almost full grown then! Nobody's about to mistake him for a lady."

"I wonder how many of his Harpers Master Robinton has ever picked up and carried?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"You're as proddy as a green. It's an _interesting_ question, isn't it?"

"I couldn't walk myself. That's why I was sitting."

"But he could have called over some brawny dragonrider. Instead, he picks you up and _carries_ you. Now, I usually only see that sort of behavior from young—"

"I think he wanted some time to talk to me about my firelizards, which wouldn't happen if someone else took me away."

"...yes, but, how did it _feel _to be held in the arms of—"

Menolly threw a piece of bread at Mirrim. "You are impossible! Oh, and by the way, when T'gellan picked me up at the Hall, he mentioned, with some bafflement, that it'd be easy to find _you_ because you seem to be 'everywhere'."

Mirrim focused on scooping food into her mouth.

"Yes. _Now_ you shut up!"

"I'm hungry."

"He's really quite clueless about you—"

"There is _nothing_ for him to be clued in on."

"Only because he's _blind_."

A peculiar twist shaped Mirrim's mouth. "Are you so sure that he's blind? If it wasn't for the firelizards I'm not sure anyone..." and she trailed off.

Menolly realized that she had been correct that Mirrim had been dealing with the antics of her own firelizards...but, with a pang of sudden comprehension and concern, possibly not quite as well as Menolly herself had been. Had there not been any Talmor for Mirrim? Someone interested enough in the woman, able to see beyond the temper and work and moods, even if it clearly wasn't a true-love-for-life thing?

She wanted to reach out to her friend, somehow ease the bitterness it seemed whatever pairings her firelizards had brought Mirrim had caused...but how did one do that? Mirrim would brush off any show of concern, Menolly suspected. She was weyrfolk, after all—which in Mirrim's lexicon meant worldly, hardworking, passionate, courageous, stubborn and tough. They wouldn't bend to thread, and certainly wouldn't bend to the chaos of the human heart.

No, Mirrim would respond best to what Menolly's original reason for coming here was...if someone asked _her_ for advice. Instead of offering it.

"The firelizards lead us down strange paths, don't they?" Menolly said softly, musingly.

Mirrim looked over at her, healer's instincts latching onto the melancholy in Menolly's words.

Menolly said, "You must have...more firelizards, overall, here in the Weyr than we do at the Hall. At the Hall it's just me, Master Robinton, Lord Groghe, and Sebell. Sebell's gone most of the time."

The other woman made a strange sound. "Good thing they're not dragons, then. And you don't have to get close to the ones they look to."

"Master Robinton practically dragged me by the scruff of my neck out of Lord Groghe's presence once—"

Mirrim's eyes went _huge_.

"—and that was all for the best—"

"You sound regretful!"

"No, no!" Menolly said quickly. "It really _was_ for the best. Lord Groghe is terribly intimidating. But we're the only three with firelizards—other than Sebell—"

"Who is _always_ gone you said."

"Well, even if he wasn't...people don't _get_ what the firelizards...I mean, it's not like dragons, but—how do I say, 'Hey, I'm Menolly, and I have _nine firelizards_ who are _always f—'_"

Mirrim giggled.

"Always! All. The. Time. If it's not Beauty, it's Auntie One. Or Auntie Two. Or it's Merga. Or it's Kimi. Or it's some bloody wild gold or green from who-knows-where but ALL the boys are interested. Heavens forbid _Ruth_ and Jaxom come over to the Hall for lessons and bring a _cloud_ of them along. Someday I might be locked up for _molesting_ the lad, and I don't even like him all that much!"

"Who, Jaxom?"

"He's amiable enough for someone in the position he's been in, with his sire and Ruth and all those expectations, and Master Robinton and Lord Warder Lytol stop him from getting as much of a head like some of Groghe's brats have, but sometimes I think Ruth does all his _thinking_ for him. But at least he'd understand about firelizards." She paused. "Or at least I'd _hope_ he would. Unless Lytol has never explained to him what having a male dragon means..."

"Ruth's not mature yet," Mirrim said with a shrug.

"But how do you explain to the non-weyrfolk about the firelizards, without seeming like it's an _excuse_? For just being...indiscriminate?"

"You have nine firelizards," Mirrim said to herself. "I knew that but never really _thought_ about it...or what it's like outside a weyr...and you're the only woman in your Craft...how many have you—"

"I look but I don't touch," Menolly said morosely. "Mostly." She sighed. "Master Robinton sent the one away, Journeying."

"Sebell?"

"No!" Why did Mirrim jump to _that_ conclusion?

"Well, don't bite my head off or anything. But if you ask _me_ about Master Robinton, given what you've described, his propensity for picking you up and _carrying_ you places—"

"He only did that _once_, Mirrim—"

"—and the fact that he assigned your _toy_ elsewhere—"

"Talmor wasn't a _toy!_" Menolly said, insulted on his behalf.

"Talmor?" Mirrim said in interest, dropping the topic of Robinton instantly. _"That's_ his name?"

"Don't you dare—"

"I won't. But if he ever Harpers here, I want to get a good view of him! The one Menolly looked at AND touched!"

Menolly kicked Mirrim this time.

"Ow!" Mirrim kicked back.

Menolly kicked her again.

"You kick like a girl," Mirrim jeered dodging it.

"Well I wrestle like a boy," Menolly said.

"Yeah? Well prove it," and Mirrim pushed her bowl to the side and placed her right arm on the table, hand raised. "Arm wrestle."

Menolly grabbed her arm and had it flat to the table before Mirrim knew what was happening.

"I wasn't ready!" Mirrim said, and offered her hand again.

Boom. "I win, again," Menolly said. "What do I _do_ about the lack of people who...get it...about firelizards?"

"Weren't you going to molest Jaxom?"

"Not if I can _help_ it. He's way too young—"

"Especially when compared to a certain _Lord_ and _Master_ in the vicinity, who are known to 'get it'—" Mirrim offered her arm again.

"Mirrim!" There was more resistance this time, but Menolly had her arm flat on the table again in no time. "I was _going_ to say, molesting a little-boy Lord isn't exactly the sort of reputation I want to bring the Harper Hall."

Mirrim chuckled and rubbed her bicep as if it ached. "Are you sure you don't spend your time wrestling from dusk 'till dawn?"

"I _told_ you Master Robinton sent Talmor away—" Menolly said. She had nobody to spend the nights with.

"Ha!"

"And my right arm is my strumming arm. I can spend hours strumming. It's not heavy work, but it's repetitive..."

"_Especially_ now that Talmor's been sent away—" Mirrim dodged another one of Menolly's kicks, laughing.

"Are you going to just make fun of me, or help me?" Menolly asked.

"Well, it sounds like you need a Weyr, to broaden your pool of available, understanding people," Mirrim said. "Isn't there a minor one over by you, just a _little_ one with a _few_ dragons, called Fort?"

"There _might_ be, but everyone knows the Harper Hall is in bed with Benden."

Mirrim snorted.

"But what do I do? Do I go up to someone and say, 'Hello, I'm Menolly!'?"

"Menolly, you're well-known enough now that you wouldn't even have to _introduce_ yourself. They'll know exactly who you are. Just ask one."

"But how? Put on a fancy dress? Do my hair?"

"That doesn't really seem your thing," Mirrim said.

"It's not."

"So do _your_ thing."

"Sing them a song?"

Mirrim smiled. "I think you could serenade a dragonrider into bed with a song, yes."

Menolly stared at her. "...but that would be _exploiting_ my Craft and my position—"

Mirrim rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, Menolly! How did you end up with Talmor anyhow?"

"I was taking a bath, and he came in...and it was _easy!"_

"So you want me to teach you how to catch a dragonrider?"

"Not _catch_ him catch him, I don't want him for long. Catch and release, like a fish you don't want to keep."

There was silence. Then they both began wildly laughing.

"I think you may be more weyrbrat than I am," Mirrim said to herself. "So you don't actually want...I don't know...a family and babies—"

"I have a Craft," Menolly said. "They're my family. And I have nine firelizards. It's driving me insane!"

"Yeah, I understand. I think we can do this, particularly if you don't want one to _love_ you...that's always the hardest part..."

"But I'm not really pretty like a Holder girl—and I always see dragonriders with—" Menolly said.

"Oh, stop it. If you're really that insistent in pretending you look like a man, or that dragonriders only spend time with the prettiest of non-weyrfolk, I'm sure you could attempt to serenade a greenrider with a song and he'd be thrilled to have the Masterharper of Pern's _own Journeywoman_ (who looks like a lad) interested in him! And if you're not 'lad' enough for him, like I doubt you would be, well, there's always the other dragonriders. You're not ugly Menolly...you're...sort of handsome."

_"Handsome?"_

"It's not a bad thing. Really, it's not." Mirrim studied her. "When you get older I think you'll be stunning in your own way. Sort of like how your Master is a bit odd-looking but has that _thing_. You have character, charisma, like him. Especially when you get some clothing to really bring it out...but that's neither here nor there, although I think Benden Weyr still owes you a set of clothing or two. You left with very little, you know...Manora was upset that the Harper Hall's headwoman would think we hadn't been hospitable..."

It was clear that asking Mirrim for advice had hooked her, line and sinker.

Then Menolly reflected on how she'd used that comparison earlier, and felt a bit of guilt...because Mirrim was no casual acquaintance. She wasn't a fish to be thrown back.

Well, maybe while they figured out how to catch a dragonrider for Menolly, Menolly could figure out how to mend the bruises on Mirrim's heart left by men who hadn't wanted to be _caught_-caught, when perhaps Mirrim _had_.

There had to be a way.

Maybe she could even get T'gellan looking at Mirrim for once...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Sebell! You're back?" Menolly asked, finding him leaving the Harper's office the next morning.

Sebell paused in closing the door, then completed the motion gently so there was nary a noise as its latch clicked into place. "I suppose I am," he said, but his eyes were far away, and he looked preoccupied. And rumpled. His hair needed a good comb, something more than the fingers that had obviously been dragged through it, and the leather pad that Kimi usually stood on was askew on his shoulder, the young queen nowhere to be seen. "Where were you?"

"I was at Benden Weyr most of yesterday," Menolly said. "Just got back this morning. I delivered some things to F'nor, and spent time with Mirrim."

He blinked and focused on her like he was just seeing her for the first time. "You did? Spoke with F'nor? Good for you!"

"How's the Master?" she asked.

He went quite for a moment. Then he spoke, hesitantly. "He's, ah...it should be fine to talk to him," Sebell said.

"...weren't you in there just speaking with him?"

Sebell hesitated, and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing once.

Menolly felt sudden concern. "Sebell? Are you okay?"

"He shouldn't be upset with _you_...just don't spring anything unusual on him right now, Menolly. Nothing unusual. Unless it's very necessary."

"He's mad at _you_?" It was rare anyone got mad at Sebell, ever. He had no temper to speak of, was extremely competent, quiet, and watchful, and good-natured.

Sebell grimaced, and moved his head like he was going to shake it, but didn't quite complete the gesture. "I have things to do, Menolly. I'll see you later."

And with that, he was gone.

She stared at his back until he was away around the corner, completely baffled. Beauty cheeped on her shoulder. "I don't know, Beauty. I've never seen him so discombobulated."

Beauty rubbed her face along Menolly's cheek. Menolly scratched her head gently.

Then, braving herself, she took the last few steps and rapped on Master Robinton's door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's Menolly!"

Silence. Then, finally, Robinton said, "Come."

She poked her head into the room, and spotted Robinton behind his desk, reading something. He had his head propped up by the chin in his left hand, and his brows were together. He looked very serious. "Should I come back later?" she asked.

Robinton rubbed his lower face with his hand, then said, "No. You can come in, Menolly."

She did so, closing the door behind her. "I delivered what you wanted me to, to F'nor," she said, coming forward and hefting her bag off of her shoulder to return to Master Robinton.

"Yes," Robinton said. "Thank you." He was still reading the hide he had in his hand. Or rather, as she stared at him for a moment, he was just using it as a prop and was actually far away in his head, brooding about something.

She paused, then moved herself off to the side to empty the bag and return the slates and hides that remained to their former positions on Robinton's shelves. Robinton paid no attention to her as she did so, still lost in his thoughts.

What, exactly, had Sebell done?

Then, suddenly, Robinton banished his mood and tossed the hide down and looked up at her, blue eyes alert. "How was your visit with Mirrim?"

"It was good. I'm glad we got to see each other. We got to talk a lot."

"What did you talk about?" Master Robinton asked.

"Girl things," she said quickly, _not_ wanting him to ask any further questions.

For the briefest second, there was a look on his face, as if he wanted to ask something, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared...so quickly that she wondered if she'd imagined it. Then, he said, "I'm glad you have someone to do that with. How did your meeting with F'nor go? Sit down, and tell me about it," and he gestured at one of the stools in front of his desk.

Menolly sat, and told him about it, elaborating on certain things when Robinton asked her to do so.

After the short debriefing was done, Menolly asked him the thing she really had been wanting to ask, and hoped that it wouldn't be considered unusual and unnecessary, according to Sebell's warning earlier. "Master Robinton—if you need someone to go to any of the Weyrs...may I be the one to go?"

Robinton settled back into his chair, and propped his long legs on top of his desk, much more relaxed. "What? Are you telling me you wish to actually journey my dear?" he asked with a laugh.

She blushed. "Something like that, Master."

"Why the Weyrs?" His eyes searched her face.

"They're...open minded," she hedged, hoping he'd take it to mean women Harpers.

"Not all of them, Menolly," Robinton said.

Startled, she looked at him.

"You know the issues...that some of the Oldtimers have been causing," Master Robinton said.

She relaxed a bit. But only for a bit, for she began to realize just what exactly she'd asked for. Not all Weyrs were like Benden. In fact, only Benden was like Benden. All the other Weyrs still had significant Oldtimer populations, and most still had Oldtimer Weyrwomen and Weyrleaders and Wingleaders. Her little idea of...personal conquest...would largely be overshadowed by the very real political issues she would be involving herself in on her Master's behalf.

She suddenly had an urge to laugh at herself. _Isn't that how it should be?_ It was perhaps testament to how one-track her mind had been lately that she'd felt real problems were less important than her personal ones.

"Of course, if you're willing to travel to the Weyrs, that will free Sebell up to be...elsewhere, for longer periods," Robinton continued. "I would like to have him out Journeying more."

Menolly stared at him. "He's gone most of the time already...Master, why are you mad at him? Are you sending him away for what he did?"

Robinton's good humor vanished. "His punishment is not a topic of _your_ concern, Journeywoman, any more than yours would be to _him_ should you ever do anything to displease me," he said, sternly.

Her immediate reaction was to shrink in on herself at the reprimand and stare at the ground, but her mind also whirled. His _punishment_? Sebell had not only displeased the Master, but done something to merit actual _punishment_? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just haven't ever seen him like that before..."

The Masterharper was quiet for a long while, although when she looked up, she saw him gazing at her. "Let me know if he seems to take it too hard for too long," he said finally.

"—but if he's out Journeying..."

"...as circumstances permit," Robinton amended.

Menolly fiddled with the wooden edge of his desk. "...spying on each other," she said to herself, staring at her fingers.

Master Robinton took his feet down and reached across his desk to briefly grasp one of her hands. "Looking out for each other," he corrected gently. "Even if we're a little wroth with each other at the same time."

She glanced up at him again long enough to see his crooked smile. "I probably would have watched him, anyway," she admitted. "What if...he tells me about whatever he did?"

Robinton removed his hand from hers and sat back again. "Then that would be his choice. Now. The Weyrs." He abruptly moved some things off of the glass top of his desk, then lifted one section aside on its hinges so he could begin making notes into the damp, fine sand there. "This is what I'd like you to do for me—"

#

"You again!" T'gellan said, about a month later, when Menolly hurried out and found him sitting on Monarth's paw. "Coming to see F'nor?"

"No...not this time," Menolly said. "I'm to see Lady Lessa." And she was incredibly nervous about it. "I'm to write a song. Well, not just one song you see, but many songs."

He whistled, impressed. "About...?"

"That's what I'm going to find out," Menolly said with a half-smile.

"Doesn't that black-hearted guy usually do this?"

Menolly tilted her head. "Black-hearted?" she asked in confusion.

"Dour, sarcastic, dark-humored—"

"Oh, you mean Master Domick?"

"Yes! That's the man." T'gellan jumped up from Monarth's paw and gestured at her to approach the bronze's neck. "Step here." And with an easy grace, he boosted her up, then mounted himself, settling down in front of her.

"Well, yes, he usually does, and he'll be working on me with this, but the Benden Weyrleaders especially asked for me, so Master Robinton's sending me even though Master Domick is a better composer —"

T'gellan chuckled. "I know nothing about music, but I do know he's not you! It wouldn't be the best thing to send a mere imitation, now would it? Now, now, stop squirming like that—had there been anyone quite like you before you came, why would the Harper have been so excited to find you?" And he reached back to pat her thigh. "Heard you've been popping up in some of the Weyrs lately. You're a Harper, no doubt, but maybe Lessa's just a little bit regretful that she let you get away from us."

Menolly didn't know what he meant by that, so she stared, puzzled, at his back.

"Never mind. C'mon, Monarth. Back we go!"

#

Menolly had indeed been to a few other of the Weyrs on small tasks, mostly Fort Weyr. But she'd been shy in perusing her personal goal, particularly as more and more reports of Oldtimers behaving badly floated around—some of those reports her own. Oldtimers weren't necessarily old in looks; even the youngest of their weyrlings and weyrbrats had come forward with their Weyrs, so it was completely possible a young dragonrider only a few turns older than she was an Oldtimer, of the type people were grumbling about. She'd seen some men supposedly her own age with incredibly closed, entitled, and arrogant world-views very much out of step with the rest of Pern. It was as if they didn't ever venture out of their Weyrs and talk to the people they protected from thread, even if they had the ability to get any part of Pern they wanted at whim. Most vexing.

If only she could find a rider who was as likable as T'gellan, without actually _being_ T'gellan.

"Here we are," T'gellan said as they landed a few minutes later. "Monarth says the Weyrwoman is in her office with Manora."

"Oh, thank you," Menolly said. She hadn't thought of how to locate Lessa. "And thank Monarth!"

"He knows," the bronze rider said, grinning. "You're welcome."

Menolly slid down Monarth's neck, took her gitar and satchel as T'gellan handed them down to her, and stepped back to watch Monarth and his rider take off again. It was really too bad T'gellan wasn't someone she could get to know better. But she valued her friendship with Mirrim more than any romp, no matter how tempting.

After Monarth had winked _between_, Menolly realized one thing...she didn't know where Lessa's office actually was. And she would have checked with Manora, except that if Manora was already in Lessa's office, that didn't help. "Beauty?" she asked.

Beauty, who had started to doze on her shoulder opened both sets of eyelids, cheeped, then her eyes went a-whirling as she picked up Menolly's intent. A moment later she jumped off of her mistress's shoulder and went _between_. The last thing Menolly felt from her was an intense desire _not_ to talk to Ramoth.

"You craven sissy!" she told her vanished companion. But the insult didn't cause Beauty to return and help her. And if _Beauty_ wouldn't, the rest _certainly_ wouldn't. What a bother.

So she swung her gitar and satchel to her back, and went looking for someone to ask. Thankfully, it didn't take long to find someone to point her in the direction.

#

It was funny how rank affected one's perception of people.

Menolly found Lessa's office easily once given proper instructions by a man of the lower caverns, and she was given an unexpected hug by Manora, then barely sat down at a small eating table with the diminutive but intimidating Weyrwoman to discuss music before F'lar had appeared too. Shortly after that Lessa had suggested they all sit down on the couch instead, and Menolly found herself sitting between two of the most powerful people on Pern—and learning they were both horrible at lyrics and songwriting.

But how was she to tell them that?

Menolly was quiet as Lessa explained what they were looking for, by darting through at least fifty different songs with a wave of her hand, some of which had no relation at all to one another in theme, meter, tempo, or melody. And then something she said set F'lar alight, and he stopped brooding to offer his suggestions, and he was really _quite_ attractive when he was animated, amber eyes and forelock of hair falling into his face, and oh dear, she'd lost track of what they were saying, so she lowered her head over her gitar, and strummed a few chords, making it look like she was taking their suggestions into consideration.

How did Master Robinton deal with this all the time? Two strong-willed, high-ranking, and quick-to-act people? She'd _seen_ him do it, certainly, with the adroitness of a Master diplomat, but she hadn't ever dealt with it herself, or without being able to glance over and take cues from her Master...

Her fingers moved on the strings, and she strummed again, doodling with her hands, and then she realized both of them had fallen silent.

"That!" Lessa said, leaning forward with intensity.

"...what?" Menolly asked. "I was just doodling. It had nothing to do with what you were saying—" Then she realized what she had _said_...

F'lar began to laugh and flopped back on the couch, his tense posture easing. One leg tilted to the side and bumped hers.

Menolly carefully moved herself away.

"Well," Lessa said on the other side of Menolly. "We're used to Harpers not listening to us, I suppose."

Menolly turned red.

"None of that," Lessa said, briefly patting Menolly's other knee. "Maybe we should take a page from Robinton's hides and be silent for once, and let _you_ ply your Craft." And Lessa rose, to go pour more klah for herself. F'lar stayed where he was, but pulled his wayward knee in and watched Lessa intently, while Lessa ignored him.

It was strange, having F'lar on one side of her and an empty space on the other. So Menolly scooted to the side of the couch that Lessa had vacated, and turned to half-face him, and began playing again. Or rather, doodling. And trying not to notice that she'd moved right into Lessa's warm spot.

And she'd thought her odd thoughts about _Lord_ _Groghe_ were bad enough! Must she really think of such things _all the time? _Seriously! Why did she even _think_ of such impossible things!

...and what if Ramoth or Mnementh heard her thoughts? And relayed them?

_We mustn't fret about what we can't change. The only frets a Harper should have is on their gitar!_ a memory of Robinton chided her. If dragons could read her mind right now, then they would have had the opportunity to do so at any time. _Now_ was no different. Besides, a single dragon, queen or gold, sent the entire Weyr's thought trending that way. What was Menolly's awkward, never-to-be-realized desires compared to _that_? Trivial, that's what! Or at least, that's what she had to convince herself.

So Menolly took her mind from the worrying sort of frets and applied her touch to the more appropriate type, and began to doodle again on her instrument.

#

It wasn't until late that afternoon, with sore fingers and a bag stuffed full of notes she'd jotted down, that Menolly was walking across the Weyr bowl again in the scarlet and violet light of the setting sun. Something was slightly off about the activity, though. But she couldn't quite decide what it was.

She spotted T'gellan, though, near the lake rubbing a towel the size of a large blanket over Monarth's hide to dry it, and hailed him.

For a moment it looked like T'gellan was going to ignore her, then he cocked his head at Monarth before turning and giving Menolly a half-hearted wave.

So she continued walking towards him.

"Where have you been all day?" T'gellan asked when she arrived, swiping an edge of the large towel over Monarth's head knob, eyeing it critically, then swiping again. Monarth's eye was milky with the inner eyelid pulled over it and muting its colors in case of any mishaps and seemed an odd pink-orange shade, something Menolly couldn't interpret for she had never seen it in one of her firelizards.

"You know where I've been," Menolly said with a sigh. "In with the weyrleaders!"

T'gellan paused, turning to look askance at her. "All day?"

"All day."

"With both of them?"

"With both of them!"

"Huh." He considered this, then swiped Monarth's face again carefully. "F'lar never left?"

"...should he have?" Menolly asked, starting to worry. "Did something happen?"

"...not really. It's just...interesting. Let us give you a ride back to the Hall then. Monarth and I are tired of this place anyhow." And he threw the gigantic towel onto the ground in a wad.

"Oh. Thank you," Menolly said, not quite sure how to respond to T'gellan in a mood like this.

Monarth's gear was laying strewn across the ground, but T'gellan had it all together again with his dragon's help, and then he was strapping Menolly's gitar to its place, and pulling Menolly up with a strong hand. Dragonriders were one fit bunch, particularly in the arms.

"Have you ever seen Southern?" the bronzerider asked, as Monarth lurched under them and got to his feet and shook himself, not unlike a gigantic canine.

"Oh no," Menolly said. "There's only the one Hold there, run by that Toric fellow, right?" She knew a little more about it than that, but if any Harper was going to visit it someday, it would probably be Sebell, not her.

"More or less. It's just the spot you want to go if you want to get away from people!"

Underneath them, Monarth leapt into the air, and for a few moments, the sound of his mighty wings flapping was enough to eclipse any sort of talking, and neither of them tried. And then the moment they were higher than the necessary clearance, they went _between_.

_ Why does he want to get away from people?_ she wondered. And a few more heartbeats later, they came out of the cold darkness of _between_.

It didn't exactly surprise her that it _wasn't_ the Harper Hall or Fort Hold that they now hovered over. Instead, it was thousands of dragonlengths of jungle on one side, and a lovely stripe of sea and coast on the other. Menolly rather thought that this was _not_ the coasts of Ista. It went on as far as the eye could see. And also, in that vast expanse of greenery, there were circles where some treetops were shorter than their brethren. Old thread-scar?

Despite T'gellan's unusual mood and the surprise destination, Menolly felt excitement. Southern! And _she'd_ gotten here _first_, before Sebell, albeit by the whims of a moody dragonrider. She'd have to needle her fellow Journeyman about this. Oh! And the Masterharper. She'd have to tell _him_ too. Although, right now she didn't have much to report, other than that Southern was lovely, and merited more exploration.

"It's beautiful," she said to T'gellan, because it was. "It's Southern?"

He smiled and nodded, the first smile of that evening. A dimple appeared on the cheek she could see. "It is, and we jumped a little west at the same time, so that we didn't miss the sunset."

Menolly twisted around, and saw this was true, then Monarth tilted and began descending.

When they had landed on the sands of a shallow bay, and T'gellan had helped her slide off Monarth's shoulder. "Where in Southern are we?"

"West of Southern Weyr, east of just about everything else. Monarth and I have flown an hour in every directions, and there's just more and of this," and he waved an arm at the beach and jungle. "Or sea."

"How big do you think it is?" Menolly said.

"We don't know," T'gellan said with a shrug. "Things always seem bigger when there's nobody else around."

Monarth tilted then, and they swooped down onto one of the many beaches that limned the coast. Menolly un-clipped herself and slid down the bronze dragon's neck faster than the dragonrider himself, and trotted down the beach, head whipping left and right, taking in every single sight. She did have enough presence of mind to avoid getting too close to strange plants and places where tunnel snakes and other dangers might hide, but that only took a tiny corner of her mind. The rest of it was already trying scraps of tunes up for size. Exotic...she needed something exotic. With minor notes, rising speed, and crescendos to mimic the waves roaring on the beach...something crunched under her foot, and she paused and nudged it with her boot.

It was an empty animal shell. From some marine critter, most likely. Astonishingly, it seemed scarred by thread—she wasn't sure what else could make that particular web-like pattern—but the shell seemed ultimately too mineral for thread to consume, and it seemed like its former inhabitant had died of some other cause, likely the hole chewed in one end. Actually, a firelizard had likely eaten the creature that had lived in this shell, as she recognized those types of tooth marks.

"Are these good?" she asked Beauty on her shoulder, waving the empty shell at her. It rattled somewhat as she did so.

Beauty chirped. Menolly had a sense that if it wasn't empty already Beauty might try to eat it and see. But there was nothing there now.

Menolly rattled the shell again, somewhat on reflex, listening to the sound it made. Then she bent and scooped up a handful of sand and dribbled it through the hole, then shook it again. Much better. In fact, it made a very good hissing or rainy sound, depending on how she tilted it about.

"Menolly?" T'gellan asked suddenly, placing a warm hand on her back.

She jumped and straightened up, causing Beauty to stick out a wing and grab her ear for balance. "Shells! I forgot you were there, T'gellan." And she tugged reflexively to make Beauty stop throttling her.

He laughed. "I know. You went running off in a random direction then stopped. Is that what caught your eye?"

"Oh, this?" Menolly rattled the shell again. "No, I was just...exploring. I didn't see this until I was here. I wonder if I could find another empty one with a slightly smaller hole? It makes rain sounds if you put sand in it, see?" And she tilted it one more time, demonstrating. "But the hole would have to be mended with something. Perhaps plaster or cement."

"Is this part of what you do?"

"What?"

"As a Harper?"

"Oh. I suppose so? I want to make a song about this," and she gestured widely to their surroundings. "But how do you make music about an exotic place without making the music exotic? I was thinking shells like these—which I've never seen in the North and I've thrown back or eaten just about everything that you can fish out of the sea—could maybe lend that sound I'm looking for. But I don't know. I'll have to see."

"That's amazing," T'gellan said, dimples appearing on his cheeks. "You know, I understand the singing and playing of existing songs part. I like singing myself. But the creating something new out of nothing? From just landing on a beach and finding a few shells?" He shook his head in wonder, then glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Menolly ducked her head, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Well, when you run out of songs to play, you have to start making your own." Shards...was the dragonrider _flirting_ with her? Because she's just been silly and gotten lost in her thoughts about music? Harpers did that all the time. And flirting with T'gellan was the _last_ thing she wanted. Or rather, that's the last thing her _mind_ wanted, and her body didn't get a say in it, anyhow! It wanted _everyone_.

But she didn't want to be taken back to the Harper Hall just yet. She didn't have enough to make a song.

So she abruptly turned away from him, getting out of touching range. "I wonder if there's any reeds about? Reeds can be made into pipes fairly simply, you know, although they don't last long if you don't prepare them properly." And with a bit of playacting—taking a few bars from the Masterharper's score—she began to both gather more material for her song, and random bits and pieces from the shore that might serve as inspiration, and worked on giving the impression that she was more interested in running around manically spouting Harper knowledge than any sort of canoodling on the warm sands of the beach at sunset.

No. She didn't want _that_ at all.

She thought about it for a little while, feeling her cheeks blush.

Well, she did. Just not with this dragonrider.

_Figured_ she'd see Southern for the first time because a proddy bronzerider tried to be romantic! Menolly vowed to keep _that_ out of her report to Master Robinton!

Then again...T'gellan _had_ confirmed Mirrim's theory that a dragonrider might be interested in Menolly due to her craft. So maybe, even if she wouldn't let things work out the way he had perhaps hoped they would, she had hope after all.


End file.
